


I Thought A Lot About Calling You…

by Sunshinebunnie



Series: Unfinished Business [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Ass Play, Cuddling, Dom Betty, Dom Jughead, F/M, Jughead knows how to take care of a woman, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power-bottom Jughead, Praise Kink, Sixty-nine, Slow burn (for a one shot), Smut Shot, Woman on Top, bughead - Freeform, in so so so many ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinebunnie/pseuds/Sunshinebunnie
Summary: The 2nd installment of the "Unfinished Business" series—CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE FIC. 😊😊😊😊Betty, now a celebrated investigative journalist/author, is caught off guard when her mysterious old regular from Pop's, Jughead Jones, reemerges in her life; however, both of them feel compelled to discover whether the sexual tension that brought them together all those years earlier and has plagued them ever since still exists once they're together again in real life.





	I Thought A Lot About Calling You…

**Author's Note:**

> First off--THANK YOU SO MUCH to each and every one of you who's been following my work. It means the world to me that you seem to like what I'm creating. Also, may I extend a super extra thank you to each of you that's chosen to leave a kudos or a comment or a bookmark or has reblog this story to share the love on this story. You are so incredibly amazing, generous people, and your creative support humbles me. I only hope you continue enjoying the work I continue to produce. 
> 
> Second--this series is a direct result of all of you lovelies who told me you believed that Jug and Betty's story couldn't just end with One Last Chance Before I Go. It made me evaluate what the future might hold for these two, and here we are. Successful (?) collaboration at work!! 
> 
> Third--as usual, this is completely un-beta'd, so if my initial proof check missed anything, that's on me.
> 
> Last--I haz a Tumblr, so if you wanna come find me, you can @sunshinebunnie. 😊😊😊

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

Betty glared blearily at her phone from under her seashell pink makeshift duvet blanket fort. ‘Starting tomorrow, I’m not setting _any_ alarms on my phone for at least two weeks,’ she thought sourly. The young woman debated the merits of hitting the snooze button for nine more glorious minutes of sleep when her phone lit up with a text from her publicist, Kevin. ‘GMA needs to confirm your rider for today. Are you *sure* you don’t want anything other than some iced tap water????’

 

Betty knew the man meant well, but after six months of non-stop publicity tour appearances for her forthcoming book, she was _so_ over it. Knowing by now that he wouldn’t stop pestering her if she didn’t answer him right away, she unlocked her phone and hit his number on her contact ‘favorites’ list.

 

Kevin picked up on the first ring. “Betty,” he said with a wholly unwarranted amount of enthusiasm for 4:30 a.m. She cut him off before he had a chance to build up any further steam.

 

“Kev,” she said in the nicest tone she could muster given the ungodly hour, “honestly, the tap water _is fine_. I only have to make it from my apartment on West 117th down to Rockefeller Center. I’m not stepping off the Concorde.”

 

“But…” he tried to interject.

 

Betty had already heard his pre-empted argument multiple times before: it was about setting standards and expectations. If she let people think she didn’t matter, that’s exactly how’d they’d treat her.

 

“Kevin, it’s 4:30. The segment isn’t until 9:30 and my call time isn’t until 6:15. I’m going back to sleep now. If you call or text me before 5:45, I will skip hair and make-up completely and show up on setat 9:20 in a ratty powder blue Columbia hoodie, dingy jeans and my hair thrown up in a messy ponytail.” 

 

She felt zero guilt as she hit the “end call” button, leaving the man on the other end in stunned silence as she shoved her phone back under her pillow. 

*************************************************************************************

When Betty had returned to school to finish her Master’s in Journalism, she figured she would wind up working with hard-hitting investigative reporters like _The Boston Globe_ ’s Spotlight team, or apprenticing under investigative giants like Woodward and Bernstein at _The Washington Post_ , or even Ronan Farrow at _The New Yorker_. 

 

She did not envision herself publishing a book like Michelle McNamara.

 

The whole thing just dropped in her lap. She steadfastly _refused_ to believe it could be anything else…like _fate_. 

 

Her advisor for the accelerated Master’s also happened to be the professor overseeing her capstone seminar. Malachai was an absurdly high energy man who’d spent years embedded with a drug cartel while researching an expose on the group’s leader. Although his work had won him a bevy of prestigious awards, the human toll of the work had been too much for him. He’d fled into academia to preserve what remained of his sanity. Given his own personal experience though, he was known by students throughout the program for his fanatical insistence that each of his capstone students pick a topic to do a deep-dive investigative piece on—so they could not only learn just how much energy and commitment “true” investigative journalism required, but also learn something about themselves while the personal stakes were much lower. There was only one stipulation for choosing topics: students had to pick something with current relevance. He wasn’t interested in entertaining some student’s year-long vanity project “proving” the Zapruder film was a hoax or any similar idea that he felt was better left to the Creative Writing MFA students. 

 

For reasons Betty chose not to look at too closely, she wound up focusing on corruption—more specifically, union corruption. 

 

She’d scoured PACER for weeks at the beginning of the course trying to figure out what topic she wanted to pursue when she happened to come across some documents out of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania that caught her eye: preliminary filings pertaining to the leaders of the local electricians’ union in Philadelphia. The more she dug into things, the crazier everything seemed to get. Union officials shaking down contractors like _they_ were actual mob bosses. Records deliberately getting destroyed. Questionable instances of arson. The tendrils of corruption had even appeared to creep into other unions within the City of Brotherly Love, to the point that some had argued it could possibly topple the city’s entire reliance on union labor. 

 

Malachai had been so impressed by Betty’s end product that he’d not only nominated her for a highly sought-after award at graduation, but had also introduced her to his publisher, who had set upon her work with gusto. Betty told herself the book deal was a good thing. That it would bring her work to a larger audience and afford her the freedom to work on other meaningful investigative projects like the OCCRP’s work without the scourge of student loan debt hanging over her. She adamantly refused to think about a pair of intense blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for months.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

Betty just wanted to crawl back into her bed and sleep for about a million years after the marathon that was her last television talkshow appearance—it was, after all, part of why she’d insisted on _finishing_ her press tour in New York, rather than starting it there. Unfortunately, her publisher wanted to leverage the bump in her exposure from her GMA appearance, and had scheduled one last book signing at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble for that afternoon. 

 

“Kevin,” she’d started to ask, on the verge of exhaustion, “would it be possible to have the driver do a few loops around the block while I catch a quick cat nap? I’m dying right now.”

 

“Only if you don’t want to eat lunch,” Kevin said from the other side of the town car, looking briefly at his watch then making a quick calculation based on the current traffic crawling its way up 10th Avenue. 

 

After nearly passing out at her first book signing because she’d optimistically chosen to skip lunch, thinking she could just “grab a bite in between signings,” Betty had learned the hard way that food was a must _before_ she got settled in at her signing table. 

 

“Never mind,” she grumbled. “Just take me somewhere with good coffee then.” 

 

*************************************************************************************

After Kevin had gotten a chicken caesar wrap, some sweet potato fries, and about three pots of coffee into Betty, she’d begun to feel immeasurably more human. At least human enough to get through four (although more likely five) hours of book signings, hand shakings and selfie takings. 

 

Her table had been set up in a well-trafficked section of the store, which always seemed odd to her because the lines the buzz from her book had been causing were inevitably completely _dis_ rupting the orderly flow of foot traffic around the stores she’d been signing at. She hadn’t bothered with a purse when she’d left her apartment that morning since it always wound up becoming one more thing she stressed out about keeping track of, a little paranoid that overzealous fans might try to snag a more personal souvenir than just an autograph or a selfie with her; however, she debated whether to keep her light jacket on or put it behind her on the chair. Ultimately, she decided to start with the jacket on, figuring she could always remove it if she started overheating. 

 

As Betty laid out her red signing pens—“Harder for people to copy if they want to forge your signature,” Malachai had told her—Kevin talked with the store manager and made sure she had a couple of bottles of water available at the table, in case she wanted them. Before she knew it though, Kevin was telling her it was just about 2, and they were going to get started.

 

The line never stopped. Person after person after person had handed her a book, telling her how much they loved it, and expressing amazement over how someone so young could write such a damning indictment. Just as the unending crush of people was beginning to overwhelm her, she heard Kevin whisper in her ear, “Five more left and you’re done, Betty.” It gave her a second wind.

 

Whether it was due to her fatigue or Kevin’s distraction, Betty didn’t immediately look up when the latest person on her line stepped up to her table, but instead of a copy of her book sliding over to her like she expected, a clear plastic takeout pastry container with a heaping slice of cherry pie inside was set in front of her. “Ummm…” Betty started to say as she looked up at the person in front of her. 

 

She just gaped as the man she never expected to see again stood smirking in front of her. “This piece is on me. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you,” he said with a cheeky wink.

 

“Give me fifteen minutes,” she’d eventually rushed out, afraid that he was a figment of her imagination about to vanish at any second.

 

“Take as long as you need. I’ve got time,” he responded with an easy smile as he stepped to the side.

 

Before Kevin had a chance to wave the next person up to the table, she put a hand on his arm to get his attention. His look of mild concern was replaced with a more questioning glance as she’d told him, “Kev, I’m walking away from this table _the minute_ I’m done with that woman in the green paisley peasant skirt. If you need me to do any admin stuff, e-mail me to set up a time to go over it on Monday.” He just stared at her before his eyes flickered over to the pastry container, his expression slowly morphing into shock. 

 

“Understood,” he replied, his attention now elsewhere as he eagerly scanned around hoping to catch sight of the hot mysterious stranger she’d told him about once. 

 

*************************************************************************************

Twelve minutes later, she found him hiding out by a display table near the doors on the opposite side of the lobby from where her table was arranged. 

 

“Hi,” she said with a bright whisper as she gave him a bit of a shy smile.

 

“Hey,” he’d replied with an equally quiet warmth. 

 

The two of them just stood looking at one another, neither one of them completely believing the moment was real. They simultaneously started speaking.

 

“You want to…”

 

“…come back to my apartment?”

 

Jughead gave her a heated look, which only made the blush covering her face in response to her bold suggestion feel a thousand times hotter. 

 

“Yes,” he said, the sudden drop in the sound of his voice instantly recalling the memory of a night she’d never forgotten. 

 

Impulsively reaching for his hand, Betty lead him out of the store and into the pleasant warmth of the early June night. “Do you mind walking?” she’d asked shyly, “It’s a bit of hike from here, but the weather’s so nice right now, I want to take advantage of it.” 

 

Threading his fingers through the hand that wasn’t holding the cherry pie, he answered with a quick squeeze of her hand and a surprisingly boyish “Lead on.”

 

They walked in companionable silence for about fifteen blocks, neither of them really knowing what to say given their unusual situation. From time to time, Jughead would gently squeeze Betty’s hand, to which she’d glance over at him for a second to give him a little happy smile, before she’d wind up biting her bottom lip and looking back at her shoes.Just as they were passing the Starbucks at 81st and Broadway, Jughead looked over at her and pulled to a stop. “You look beat, Betts. Let me buy you some coffee?” he said kindly. 

 

Betty turned her increasingly heavy eyes toward his. Her suggestion of walking the two miles and change back to her apartment had only been partially motivated by the weather; she’d been hoping the exercise would also help energize her body and wake her up. However, she had not accounted for their languid pace nor the soporific effect the perfect 73 degree weather would have on her. She started to nod in agreement with his suggestion, not realizing until he was gently shaking her awake in the back of a cab that she’d actually nodded _off_ on him while standing in the middle of the sidewalk. 

 

“Betts? Betty?” Jughead said with gentle, but increasing volume to get her attention once he’d gotten her trundled into the back seat of the cab. When she’d failed to respond the first several times he’d tried calling her name and he noticed the cab driver looking at him with increasingly more suspicion in the rear view mirror, he decided to try one more tactic. Speaking faintly right into her ear, he tried again. “Mrs. Jughead Jones?”

 

Jughead chuckled to himself as Betty finally began to rouse at his use of the unexpected moniker. “‘Msup,” she mumbled as she struggled to open her eyes. 

 

“It’s ok, baby,” he whispered into her hairline. “I just need to you to tell me where the apartment is and then you can go back to sleep.”

 

“368,” she murmured as she began drifting off again.

 

“Betts, 368 what?” he continued to press lightly. 

 

“Wes’ 117th,” she continued mumbling. 

 

“Alright. Let’s get you home,” he said tenderly as he added slightly louder for the driver’s benefit, “368 West 117th, please.” 

 

The drive back to Betty’s place took about seventeen minutes when all the red lights they managed to hit were factored in. As he’d carefully pulled Betty out of the cab, consciously trying not to wake her unless it was absolutely necessary, Jughead tried not to react to the hard side-eye look he was receiving again from the cabbie. On the one hand, he got it. He knew he and Betty didn’t look like a couple that should be together, and Betty _clearly_ wasn’t actively participating in his attempts to get her home. But on the other, he was deeply offended. Not just because he’d _never_ thought of sexually molesting a woman in his entire life, but also because he thought he was making it pretty clear with his actions that he was trying to take care of her by making sure the blonde angel draped limply in his arms _got home safely_. 

 

Jughead was thankful he’d thought to look for Betty’s house keys _before_ he got her completely out of the cab. He could only imagine how quickly some NYPD patrolman would’ve stopped to “speak” with him if he’d been spotted manhandling her as he rummaged through her pockets while she remained semi-conscious. He also thanked whatever higher power there was that his sister, JB, had sent him the link to the article from Betty’s press stop in Toledo—for a variety of reasons—not the least of which being that he actually knew her full name now. If he hadn’t, despite his sympathy for how amazingly tired she was and his appreciation for her desire to be in her own space, they would’ve already been headed back to his hotel by now. Jug had _some_ limits about how shady he appeared, and mindlessly harassing Betty’s neighbors until he figured out where she lived was where he drew the line. Luckily, as he’d suspected, once he got them passed the front door, there was a bank of buzzers listing each of the building’s apartments and their inhabitants. When he finally found “E. Cooper” printed in neat block letters next to 5F, he only hoped she didn’t live in a walk-up. 

 

Fortunately for both of them, Jughead’s luck appeared to hold as he spotted a lone elevator at the far end of the front hallway. He looked down at her sleeping face from where he was bridal carrying her, and felt a tight pull in his chest. She looked so much smaller than she had when he’d last seen her over eighteen months before: whether it was the rigors of life in general or just the rigors of being on the road nonstop for months on end promoting her book, he wasn’t sure. Regardless, it made him suddenly feel intensely protective of her. It appalled him that no one around her seemed to notice how burned out she was, or worse yet, noticed but didn’t care enough to make sure she was ok. He unconsciously cradled her a little closer to his chest, causing his nipples to tighten as she nuzzled her face into his pecs in response, sighing contentedly as she took a deep breath of his scent. 

 

Carrying Betty as he was meant Jughead had to squeeze the two of them into an elevator that seemed like it hadn’t been upgraded since the 1960s; however, it actually moved surprisingly quickly toward the top floors despite its rickety-seeming construction. The doors opened smoothly at the fifth floor, and Jug was impressed that he only managed to scrape the side of his bicep once while maneuvering them out of the box. 

 

As he walked them down the hall, he instantly knew which apartment was hers. In fact, he realized he would’ve known she lived in 5F even if she hadn’t been listed on the buzzer bank. All the other doors on her hallway had unadorned bisque-colored doors; Betty’s door, though, had a brightly decorated wooden welcome sign on it that looked like she’d painted it herself. Not that he could claim to know her well, but the homey touch just seemed so perfectly “Betty.” 

 

He got the door of her apartment open with surprisingly little difficulty under the circumstances, and quickly walked inside. As much as he tried to keep himself in shape, he was hardly a “bro” about it, and if he was being completely honest with himself, even with as little as Betty seemed to weigh, carrying her all over the place for the last twenty-five minutes or so was starting to make him lose feeling in his hands. 

 

The inside of the one bedroom apartment was orderly, but cozy. She had a tiny galley kitchen that connected to a breakfast nook, which in turn fed into Betty’s living room. There wasn’t much furniture in the place, mainly a couple papasan chairs, a well-worn futon doubling as a couch, and books and papers on just about every other conceivable open surface. Taking a guess on which of the two remaining doors was the one to her room, he opened the onethat appeared to adjoin the exterior wall, thus creating a little pod within the apartment. Her Full-size mattress was sitting on top of what appeared to be two sets of drawers, while her soft pink duvet was half wadded up into a pile at the foot of the bed, as if it had lost some kind of battle with Betty that morning. He smiled. For some reason, her unkempt bed made her both sexier and more “real” for him—a reminder that she wasn’t some untouchable, feminine ideal, but rather a living, breathing woman with wants and desires that hopefully burned as brightly for him as his did for her.

 

Jughead deposited Betty into the middle of her bed as if she was precious, breakable cargo, before delicately removing her well-travelled light blue ballet flats, taking care not to accidentally tickle the arches of her feet as he took her shoes off. Even though she was still clearly asleep, he had to stop himself from laughing at the adorably put-out pout she made as her body registered the loss of his body heat. As he watched her squirm around on her mattress for a few minutes trying to get comfortable, he debated what he should do. The overwhelming part of him urged him to crawl into bed with her, while the arguably more honorable side of himself said he should just make himself comfortable out in her living room until she woke up. ‘It’s not like we haven’t slept together though,’ he thought trying to find a justifiable reason for what he was about to do. ‘Not to mention, if she wakes up in the middle of the night, she’d probably be even more freaked out to just stumble on me in her living room because she wouldn’t have any warning. At least if I’m in bed with her, she’ll _know_ I’m in her apartment.’ He hadn’t even finished his thought before he’d tossed his t-shirt on the floor and kicked off his boots as he slid under the duvet he’d pulled over her, securely resting his arm around her waist, pulling her “little spoon” soundly into his all-encompassing embrace. Just as his heartbeat began to synchronize with hers and he felt himself drifting off to sleep, he passingly realized that he’d never picked up on the delicate aroma of her vanilla & jasmine perfume before. 

*************************************************************************************

Betty had been having some variation of the same dream for the last nineteen months two weeks and three days. After luring Jughead into the dry good storage closet at Pop’s for the _hottest_ , most fulfilling sex of her life, she’d given him her phone number or her email, or he’d given her his contact information, and they’d actually stayed in touch. They had Face-Timed while she cooked dinner. He had offered to critique her capstone work for accuracy in describing union politics and infighting. She had gone back to Riverdale for a long-weekend before she needed to start focusing on her finals. It was all so perfectly domestic. 

 

It killed Betty every time she woke up because she _knew_ it wasn’t real. 

 

She went to pull her duvet more closely around her shoulders as she struggled to hold on to the latest cruel trick her mind had played on her. Jughead had shown up out of nowhere at the last scheduled book signing on her tour, with a slice of cherry pie (a cheeky reminder of the last time they saw each other!), and she’d invited him back to her place. Her imagination got kind of fuzzy after that, but she vaguely remembered the feeling of his strong arms protecting her as he’d seemingly carried her from hither and yon before putting her to bed. ’S’yeah,’ Betty found herself scoffing, ‘as if _that_ would happen in any real universe.’ 

 

As she tried pulling more forcefully on her duvet, her slowly awakening mind began noticing the fact that her duvet for some reason felt decidedly warmer than normal…and had a vaguely lingering smell of leather and cloves along with something _earthier_. She began squirming some more only to abruptly stop. Her “duvet” suddenly felt stiffer than it had only moments ago. 

 

Betty’s mind immediately snapped to attention as the young woman tried to process her current situation. A quick mental inventory confirmed that she was still completely dressed aside from her shoes, and nothing that would’ve been indicative of sexual activity seemed to hurt. Her momentary flare of panic began subsiding just as quickly as it started. Shimmying a little more, Betty was able to turn her head enough over her shoulder to see her human comforter. ‘ _Oh my…….._ ’ she thought, a cascade of lust instantly overtaking her body as her mind slowly processed the fact that the man she’d been fruitlessly pining over for close to two years was inexplicably in her bed. Betty rolled her hips back against Jughead’s pelvis confirming the very definitive existence of his substantial arousal. She licked her lips as her breath hitched and an all-too-familiar thrum of sexual tension settled in her pussy. 

 

All of Betty’s nerve endings felt like they’d simultaneously caught fire after her long sexual drought. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision on her part, she simply hadn’t had sex with anyone since her last night in Riverdale. At the time, she’d mostly chalked it up to being too busy or not being interested in any of the people who’d shown an interest in her, but now that she had her dream tormentor in her bed, she was finally willing to admit the real reason—there was an undefinable connection between her and Jughead that she didn’t want to risk upsetting before she’d had a more satisfactory chance to explore it. Emboldened by the power of her revitalized lust, Betty decided she was going to take a leap and test whether Jughead had spent nearly as much time regretting their lost time together as she had. 

 

Discreetly slipping out from Jughead’s embrace, Betty hastily stripped down to her royal blue lace G-string and matching demi-bra before tentatively climbing back into bed. Using a deftness of touch that she’d picked up while investigating for her book, Betty managed to get Jughead’s belt open and his pants off without him even twitching. As she reached inside his boxers to pull out his engorged crimson cock, she felt her pussy begin to experience a mild throbbing sensation as she remembered all of the feelings his velvety steel had induced in her. 

 

Betty took a second to loosen up her jaw before she licked her lips and descended hungrily on his attention-seeking cock. She started off slowly, breathing through her nose, trying to keep her jaw as relaxed as she could while she sought to take as much of his impressive length into her mouth as possible. When she finally reached the point where taking any more of him in would no longer be pleasurable for either of them, she began to swirl her tongue over and around him again and again all while keeping up a strong vaccuum-like suction on his dick. She bobbed her head in a leisurely rhythm, making sure to swipe at the highly sensitive underside of the head of his cock every time she moved to pull her mouth off him. 

 

The more intensely she focused on perfectly coordinating the licks and sucks of her mouth with the firm steady strokes of her hand along the base of his cock, the wetter she could feel herself getting. She took a second to readjust her hands so that she could stroke Jughead’s cock with her left while her right snaked down between her thighs to play with her aching clit. Unfortunately, despite her _most_ concentrated efforts, Betty found that she wasn’t able to give her clit enough friction to do anything other than torment herself mercilessly on the edge of orgasmic fulfillment in light of her excessive state of arousal. Whether it was the sounds of her frustrated whimpers, or the reverberations they were causing down his dick that woke up Jughead, she wasn’t sure, but suddenly in the midst of her entirely maddening efforts to get herself off, she felt the sharp, insistent tug of strong fingers in her hair. 

 

Whining as she reluctantly slipped her fingers out of her needy snatch, she carefully removed her mouth from Jug’s tumescent cock making sure to keep her sharp teeth well away from his delicate skin as he’d used her goldenrod blonde hair as leverage, urging her head upward. 

 

Even though he appeared to be only half awake, the young dark-haired man still managed to give Betty the most devastatingly damning look she’d seen in years…approximately two years to be precise. “Not that your mouth doesn’t feel amazing, Betts,” he said with a gravelly arousal to his voice, “but I’m getting a little jealous of your right hand there.” Betty’s pussy clenched at the promise behind his words. 

 

“Oh yeah?” she said with a breathy cheekiness. “You gonna do anything about it?”

 

Faster than she thought possible, Jughead managed to pull her up the length of his body until her smooth, pink glistening lips were hovering just over his mouth. Just as he flicked his tongue out to taste her, he said in a quietly commanding voice, “I didn’t tell you to stop, Betts.” He laved her pussy with slow, deep, deliberate licks that had her squirming desperately to both get away from him and get him to give her clit more of the attention she so fiercely needed. When Betty didn’t make any moves to continue her earlier blowjob, Jug completely pulled his mouth away from her vagina causing her to whinge in frustration. He chuckled darkly against the crease of her thigh, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you weren’t interested in oral any more…” Betty reached behind her to grab his soft locks in a punishing grasp as she forced his mouth back to her pussy. 

 

“ _Lick_ ,” she commanded. 

 

“ _Only if you suck,”_ he grunted with equal force, the cool air from his expelled words causing her pussy to twitch.

 

‘Is that how it is?’ Betty thought evilly to herself just before she dragged her fingernails along his cleanly shaved balls. His entire body bucked forcefully up toward her tender sex from the unexpected sensation. A reaction she used to her full advantage as she ground herself down against his mouth with equal force. She spread her thighs even further apart, letting out an appreciative guttural moan as the new angle of her hips stretched her even tighter across his mouth. Now, just about every breath each of them took resulted in some sort of manual stimulation of her exposed clit. 

 

Jughead was beginning to realize that a domineering presence was not going to be enough to get him the reaction from her that he was so severely craving, therefore he decided to change tactics. Instead of dutifully applying himself to the task of vigorously eating her out, he began to significantly hold himself back. His broad licks turned into maddeningly quick flicks; his aggressive tongue swirls turned into evasive exploratory swipes—all of which combined into an exasperating game of cat and mouse as he kept her within reach of orgasmic bliss while never doing quite enough to satisfy her. Jug kept up his unabated teasing for over twenty minutes before Betty’s earlier commands turned into something much needier. 

 

“ _Please_ ,” Betty whined in high-pitched frustration. “ _Please, Juggie._ I need to cum for you. _Please make me cum for you_.”

 

He remained unmoved by her pleas knowing she could do better, so he continued working her over with saintly patience. 

 

“ _Oh, Juggie_ …” Betty soon sobbed. “ _Please_ , I need to cum for you _so badly_. Let me show you what a good girl I can be for you.”

 

The young Jones man was slightly more receptive to her begging and gave her clit a particularly harsh swipe as a reward. The blonde trying to roughly ride his face bore down on him in earnest, frantically chasing after the elusive friction he was fleetingly providing her. 

 

Betty had been so mindlessly focused on chasing her own elusory bliss that it took her longer than she wanted to believe it normally would’ve to realize what Jughead was doing. Taking a calculated guess, she abruptly leaned down the length of his torso until she was able to wrap her eager lips around the weeping head of his cock. His reaction was instantaneous as he began probing her throbbing pussy more aggressively with his greedy tongue. 

 

Their bodies began battling against each other, hungry to see who could make the other cum first. Jughead figured he was closer to pushing Betty over the cliff of orgasm after denying her the pleasure she’d been dying for while simultaneously teasing her with flashes of what she was seeking. However, any advantage he’d obtained was rapidly evaporating as she immediately set about licking and sucking on the extra sensitive ridge of his cockhead while intently fondling his balls with her right hand. She was just beginning to try deep throating him again, when she felt his index finger experimentally tracing along her anus. Reflexively, she popped her hips so that her ass was more readily available to him; an opportunity he used to lightly slip his finger up to his first joint into her ass. Betty’s answering moan of delicious satisfaction reverberated along the entire length of his cock like it was a tuning fork. 

 

Jughead kept up his ceaseless double assault on Betty’s ass and pussy for several more minutes until finally he registered her breath coming in short yippy pants around the head of his cock. Soon, she pulled her mouth away from him entirely as she started babbling again, “Oh, Juggie. Oh God. Jug. _Oh Juggie, God, you always make me cum so good and hard for you. God, I need to cum for you…Unhngg…Ah…Ah!…AH!…OH GOD JUGGIE!_ ” He grinned as smugly as he could with her pussy pulsating around his tongue.Eventually though his brain alerted him to the fact that she had scored his thighs with her nails to the point of breaking skin as she’d sought to anchor herself in the midst of the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced. The fact that he was able to make the seemingly perfectly put-together Elizabeth Cooper (at least according to her book) fall apart so completely made his chest swell with pride. 

 

He was still basking in the glow of self-satisfaction when before he knew it, Betty was flying off his face and frantically ransacking her bedside table for a condom. After about a minute and a half of harried searching, her hand fell upon what she’d been looking for, whipping the packet out of the drawer before opening the foil with far steadier hands than he expected. As she rolled the latex sheath onto his furious-looking cock, she turned herself around so she could face the man laying prostrate beneath her as she rode him. 

 

“You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed about this moment…” Jughead whispered reverently.

 

Betty gave him a shy answering smile. “Oh, I think I might have _some_ idea,” she replied, the implications behind her words clear to him as her voice drifted off. 

 

Once he was properly encased and Betty’s lingerie had wound up casually tossed on the floor, Betty raised herself up on her knees before grabbing Jughead’s cock with her right hand to line it up carefully with the utterly drenched entrance to her bare pussy. She wanted to take her time, to be able to feel every tantalizing millimeter of his cock as he slid inside her with an infuriatingly slow pace. However, because he’d managed to get her so horny from her arousal, the dragging friction she was anticipating was all but non-existent. She found herself whimpering a little from the disappointing lack of sensation, even though Jug’s cock still left her pussy feeling well and properly stuffed. 

 

Jughead huffed a sharp exhale out his nose as the walls of Betty’s pussy frantically fluttered around his cock every so often as they both readjusted to the notion of him being inside her. The Jones man ran his hands over her smooth thighs in comforting circles trying to get her attention as his face sought out her eyes. Eventually her slightly frenzied eyes locked on to his lust-blown pupils just long enough for him to growl at her, “ _Ride me_.”

 

Her raw animal instincts took over then as she rocked her hips in elliptical orbits while she raised and lowered herself on his cock, desperately seeking out the most pleasurable angle and pressure. If not for the fact that he’d kept his eyes trained on her face the entire time she was bouncing around on him, he doubted he would’ve recognized the moment when her eager exploratory attempts turned into an aimless frantic search as neither the sound nor the frequency of her whimpers had changed. Taking a small measure of pity on her, Jughead unobtrusively reached over from where he’d been caressing her thigh to her pussy, letting his fingers lazily play with her clit. 

 

“Pinch your nipples for me, Betts. I want to see how taut and aroused you can make them,” he said suggestively. She quickly moved to comply with his request as he started rubbing her clit in harder, tighter circles as her hips continued rocking purposefully against his. 

 

Once she’d abused her nipples into puckered, angry-looking dusky pink peaks, he raised himself up on his elbows so that his mouth was even with her breasts as he vigorously sucked on her teats before randomly giving each of her nipples a not-so-gentle bite. Her pussy responded immediately with a particularly intense clench of his buried cock as Betty moaned, “Oh, yes…”

 

His teeth continued tormenting her sore, molested nipples as his thumb fought to keep up its friction against Betty’s clit in light of her increasingly more erratic bounces along his cock. Reluctantly popping her breast out of his mouth, he regrettably found himself gritting out, “ _Don’t cum yet, Betts_ ,” which predictably elicited a discontent groan from the angel riding him for all she was worth. 

 

In a surprising display of strength and agility, Jughead unexpectedly flipped their positions so Betty was no longer riding him cowgirl-style, but rather, he was suddenly thrusting into her doggie-style. He anchored himself to her body by gripping one of her breasts firmly in his hand pulling the back of her chest firmly against the front of his as his other hand continued teasing her clit. His new angle of entry into her pussy had Betty keening from how much deeper inside her his cock was reaching. 

 

“I can’t take too much more of this,” she whispered plaintively, the desperation of her need dripping off her every word. 

 

Jughead began rubbing her clit with outright aggression as he bit the side of her neck rumbling, “ _Cum for me, Betts. Show me what a good, dirty little girl you are, and milk my cock dry with your pussy._ ” 

 

Whether it was his teeth or his fingers, or even the plain filth he was spewing in her ear, Betty wasn’t sure, but just then the orgasm she seemingly had been chasing for hours _finally_ came crashing over her. “ _Juggieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_!” she squealed as her body began violently convulsing in full-scale tremors. 

 

The ferocity of her orgasm triggered his own body-numbing climax to steamroll over him, temporarily blinding him by its intensity. As he continued kneeling behind her, haphazardly supporting both of them with just his thighs and his forearm across her torso, his body worked through the last spasmodic twitches of pleasure from his orgasmic high. 

 

They remained like that for several minutes: both of them breathing heavily as the sweat from their exuberant fucking began drying on their skin. When Jughead began to feel himself slipping out of her, he gripped the base of the condom against his pubic bones until he was able to remove safely and promptly threw the used prophylactic in the small trash can under Betty’s night stand. As he turned back toward the bed, he saw Betty already curled up around her pillow, an intensely satisfied grin written across her sleepy features. Jughead took a mental snapshot of this moment before sliding back into bed with her, curling around her like she was his own personal body pillow just in case it took him _another_ two years to wind up back between her creamy thighs. 

 

Right as he was about to drift into post-orgasmic sleep, he whispered quietly into her disheveled blonde ponytail, “ _This time_ I’m getting your phone number.”


End file.
